


Three Suppers And A Breakfast

by gisho



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Anti-Construct Prejudice, Bedtime Stories, Family of Choice, Gen, Parent-child relationships, Undying loyalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 10:25:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5493833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gisho/pseuds/gisho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ideally, Sparks would take care of their constructs. In practice, constructs have to look after each other - and frequently, look after Sparks as well. In various times and places, Mama Gkika, Adam Clay, and Zoing do their best to keep the children they care about safe and happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Suppers And A Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TanukiKyle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanukiKyle/gifts).



> Done for the spark-exchange holiday fanworks trade, December 2015. Warnings for vague discussion of horrible things including an unprovoked act of war, lots and lots of anti-construct prejudice, and Sparks neglecting their creations.

\---

Gkika spotted the figure in the rafters easily enough. It was a beautiful day, the kind of last gasp of summer you sometimes got in October, and she would have expected a nine-year-old boy to be out enjoying the weather, but Gkika would readily admit she didn't know that much about human children. They only called her _Mama_ because she had complained, too many times, about how running an army was like running a kindergarten. 

"Hoy! Get down!"

Bill's curious face appeared over the side of the beam. "Why?"

"Becauz dere iz an infestetion of Venemous Refter Toads! Hyu tink getting bit by vun of doze iz fun, sveethot?"

"Alright," Bill said, and rolled over the side of the beam. 

He dropped more or less gracefully; Gkika darted forward to catch him, but he might have landed on his feet regardless. She should, she thought ruefully, have let him fall. She set him down with a little less care than the Master's son probably merited and grinned. "Zere. Now, vut are hyu doing here? Cellars iz not very intereztink places."

"Avoiding Father," he said, with refreshing frankness. "And Mother. Dey're fighting. And Barry is packing to run away to England, so iv hyu see him near the gates hyu might vant to stop him, I don't tink he'd get very far on foot." 

"Mebbe not," Gkika conceded. Barry was only seven. "Vat vas dey fighting about?"

"Father vants to go raid Mulverschtag. And try out his new aetheric lithic destabilizer. He said it vuld be a nice little jaunt to wrap up de campaign season, and Mother said, If you define ruining the defenses of a small town just before the worst time of year for monsters as _nice_ " - he dropped effortlessly into her accent for the quote - "and Father said dey were used to it by now. Den Mother called him a monster, and den they started to throw tings." He rubbed his temple and looked vaugely sick at the memory.

Lady Teodora was, Gkika considered, being overly dramatic. Everyone knew February was worst for monsters. It was a little late in the year, but there was plenty of good weather still. Mulverschtag was close, and if troops from Balan's Gap showed up, it would give some of the young bloods a chance to prove their bravery, or run away like geese and disqualify themselves for the Troth. If the destabilizer didn't work they might be a few weeks and have to shove the October Horse to November again. 

But in any case - "If ve is going raiding Hy should check the vagons und get the munitions henventoried," she told him. "Vould hyu lek to come vit me? Unt mebbe den come to supper vit der Generals. Vill not be bugs, Hy promize."

Bill had been rocking back and forth on heels and toes, thick with nervous energy. He stopped on his toes. "I'd like that. General - vat are hyu doing in de cellars?"

Sharp lad. She grinned, letting her fangs show. "Picking out de vine fir supper. Iz supposed to breathe. Und mebbe a jar uv candied snails fer me, but dat can be our seekrit, yez?"

"Hyu eat candied snails?"

"Yez, yez, iz my seekrit shame. Hyu ken hev some too."

She let him carry the snails, to keep him from wandering off. On the way back to her office they passed three Jägers lounging in a doorway, and she sent Toma to round up Jorgi, Ognian to tell the wagon depot to warm up the clank-horses, and Iantei to the gates to tell them not to let Master Barry out, just in case. It was a long shot; assuming he really wanted to leave he was smart enough to use the Sneaky Gate.

Bill managed two snails and Gkika nine before Jorgi arrived, grinning. She dumped the ledgers on her desk and gave Jorgi the list of munitions to check - greek fire for the firehoses; mole bombs, in case the destabilizer didn't work so well; plain darts, exploding darts, and blue darts. Just a light raid, and no cause to break out the earthmovers. Medical supplies: draught, bandages, patching thread, and assume any serious cases would be stabilized and sent home.

At this point the stone gargoyle over her fireplace opened its mouth and spoke in the voice of the Castle. Overly dramatic damn overgrown shack, it could have just spoken from the air. "Very astute, General. The Master has declared his intention to take three companies to Mulverschtag. You will ride out tomorrow at noon."

Jorgi's grin turned very wide, and Gkika turned a celebratory shade of purple. "Ve hunt!" they declared in unison. 

Bill was looking a little green, like he'd gotten a bad snail. Well, some activity would cure it. "Und now," she informed Jorgi, " _hyu_ finish de inventory und get de supplies togedder, und Hy und Master Bill is goink to work out how to fit un aeteric liddic destabilizer in a vagon."

"Iz pretty delicate," Bill offered. "Do hyu have de one vit de rotary pistons working again?"

"Unlez sum pipple has been fallink asleep on de job, yez."

It was working, but some quick measurements and a consultation with the Castle proved the resonance tank would hang out the back end, so they called in a squad of wainwrights to put in new axles and install the bed and shocks off Medium Bisla, and some men with buckets to get the leftover entrails out of Medium Bisla first. Bill threw himself into the modifications, wielding his wrench with an enthusiasm that made Gkika wonder if she should change her bet - she had fifty on him breaking through at twelve, but the more time she spent with the boy the more that looked late.

His father Saturn had broken through at a typical, unimpressive fifteen years, and his grandfather at seventeen, but his great-uncle Zagnut had been only eleven when he built that beautiful fountain of needles next to the Iron Bridge to the astonishment of the entire town. Of course, in those days people thought twenty was average. Euphrosynia herself had been fourteen, and been called a prodigy for it.

By the time the destabilizer had been dragged down from the castle by a team of heavy clanks, they were late for supper. The sun was setting, turning the western sky blood red. That was supposed to be lucky. Bill was looking glum again; Gkika turned herself red to match the sky, and patted him on the shoulder. "Relax, sveethot. It vill all vork just fine. Mebbe hyu poppa lets hyu come vit uz diz time, yez? Hyu iz getting old enough to like vatching. Vill do hyu good to see tactics in de field."

"And he hez a spare if I get set on fire." Bill kicked at a cobblestone. It rocked loose, and he eyed it with the expression of a man debating whether the streets should be coated with some kind of adhesive. That had led to some very humourous incidents when his grandfather tried it; Gkika grabbed his arm to hurry him on.

"Dun vorry. De Jägers vill look efter hyu. Hyu can stey vit de beggege train und dat hardly ever gets set on fire." It didn't apply so much to Jägers, who could live off the land, but there were plenty of construct armies who would accept 'we'll behead your creator and leave you the food and weapons to get home safely' as surrender terms. "Iz he sayink tings like dat to you?"

"Only ven he fights with Mother."

"He iz just tryink to get under her skin, den. He luvs hyu. And vants to leave hyu a stronk town vit lots uv terrified tributerries." Gkika ruffled his hair; he looked faintly indignant. "Iv he did not luv hyu der Kessle vuld hev had to save hyu from him already, yez? Master Saturn iz not so much vit de sootil plottink." It might not feel obliged, Saturn could in theory have more children, but he'd never shown interest in any woman but Teodora that she knew of. 

Bill looked sideways at her. "And iv he tried to kill me _outside_ of town hyu'd stop him, vuldn't hyu?"

Oh, he was a sharp kid. "Ve iz loyal to de House of de Heterodynes," she said, and hoped that was enough.

Supper (which included borscht, boar that in deference to Bill had actually been passed over a fire, and no bugs at all) became the Generals' strategy session. Gkika tried to turn it into a strategy lesson for Bill as well. Khrizhan caught on at once, and helped, asking simple questions just so Rog could answer them at exasperated length. Øsk, as was his habit, ignored most of the talk in favor of scarfing more boar. 

There wasn't that much to talk about. Every decade or so they had a go at Mulverschtag, every decade or so the Princes of Sturmhalten took it back. There was always work there for masons. Only the details changed.

Bill excused himself from the after-supper brandy and betting to go back to his mother's house, to stop her fretting. Gkika followed him just outside the door of the Jägerhall, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Iz hyu comink vit uz tomorrow? Hyu vant I should ask hyu poppa? He liztenz to uz Generals, sometimes."

"Well, he certainly doesn't to anyvun else," Bill burst out. He took a deep breath. He ran a hand thirough his hair. "I'll ask in de morning, dat vey he und Mother von't have another fight right away und vake up Barry. He'd vant to go tell her right away. It'd be a score." He shuddered. 

Gkika didn't have much of a sense of how to raise children, but she could sympathize. "Not very good momma und poppa, are they?" It wasn't exactly a disloyal thing to say, but she said it quietly just the same. 

" _No._ " He scowled. "I swear, if I vanted gud parents I'd heff to build new ones."

"Mebbe ven you break through," she offered. 

"I vasn't serious." He stopped abruptly again, and looked up at her through his fringe, very seriously indeed. "General, thank you for the invitation."

"Vell, hyu vill be the Heterodyne zume day. Ve hef to mek sure hyu iz ready for it." She was turning green with quiet happiness. Abruptly, without quite knowing why, she wrapped her arms around him. "Hyu tek care uv uz, ve tek care uv hyu."

She wondered if she should change her _other_ bet, about the date of Bill's ascension.

After all - Bill would not be the sort of Heterodyne who wandered off to his labs while the town burned. They'd dealt with those enough; there were tricks. No, he would be the sort who felt his responsibilities keenly. The problems would start if Saturn died while Bill was too young to really shoulder them. 

Gkika was increasingly sure that would happen, and it would be Teodora's doing. She spent little time with the lady, but there was something brittle in her smile, as if she had never quite learned how to lose the game. 

So: best they make sure Bill was ready young. The Heterodynes had made the Jägers, and sometimes the Jägers had to return the favour. 

\---

In the year Agatha was seven, winter descended hard and early. The first flurries came on Tuesday. By Friday snow piled itself a meter thick on the roof of Clay Mechanical, and drifts blew so high their ground-floor windows were covered. Agatha tried to build a spring-driven automatic shovel to knock away the snow, and burst into furious tears when it sprung to pieces and fell into the drift. Adam consoled her with a hug, seething inside, as he often did these days, at the damned waste of it all. He couldn't say Barry had done wrongly, or even acted in undue haste, but a painful necessity was no less painful.

"It was a good idea in principle," Lilith assured her. "You can get the pieces and try again tomorrow."

"Okay." Agatha's eyes were red, but she had calmed down quickly. 

"Come have some cocoa, and then you can help pluck the chicken. And make rolls, we have six - " Adam held up two fingers - "my goodness, nine people coming to supper. Did Béla get back early?" He nodded. "Nine people, so we'll want to triple the recipe."

Adam went out to fetch the pieces while they were distracted, since the snow was deeper than Agatha was tall. A few had landed in the street, but the goods wagons had finished their rounds in the morning and nothing had been smashed. The shovel blade was slightly dented, though, and the occipital gear assembly had opened up when it hit, scattering wooden cogs through the snow; Adam's hands went numb before he could find the last three, and he gave up. Just as easy to carve new ones. Better yet, show Agatha how to do it. Working out the tooth count and radius would be good practice for her. He stomped the snow from his boots, and tried to shake it off his coat without dropping anything.

The kitchen was still a little cold, but Lilith was piling more logs into the stove. She stood up to give him a kiss. He leaned into it, enjoying the comfortable familiarity, until Agatha came over and tugged on Lilith's skirt with flour-coated hands to ask how much salt to put in the bread dough.

The cooking went quickly, even with Agatha helping. By the time the sun set there was nothing left but to finish stirring garlic into the potatoes and set the table.

The first guest to arrive was Béla, grinning just narrowly enough not to show his teeth - an old habit, even if no one here would be afraid - and with his ladies looming in his wake, like Mawu and Liza trailing the Storm King in the mosaic mural outside the Astrology Department building. Csenge came last, towing a hand-truck with two kegs and trailing the stray she'd spotted at work on Thursday and left a note to warn them of.

Their guests at supper were the relatively lucky, the ones Adam thought of as _passable_. Reanimated people whose scars and size were the only tells, people with extra parts or replaced parts they hid under clothing. Their newest guest was one of the latter. He was a young man with hare's ears beneath an oversized hat and overgrown hair, who still spoke with the soft guttural tones of one born deaf. He'd told them his story while Agatha was setting the table, seeming glad to have someone to tell. Simple and awful enough. He had been run over by a stampeding bull, almost died, and his sister had fretted herself into breakthrough. She added the ears so he would never again miss danger. But tiny farming towns could be cruel in their fear; new Spark and new construct were driven out together. They had heard things were better in Paris. His sister built a flamethrower and they set out together. One night in the wastelands, she vanished, silently and inexplicably.

It was the sort of thing that happened in the wastelands. What could anyone do? 

At least here, in a university town, the lad might not lose his job if he let his hat fall off. First he had to find work, though. Lilith had patted his shoulders and promised to ask around for an opening somewhere the noise of machinery wouldn't hurt his new ears. That was the life of a passable construct: make allowances, work around what you could, and hope no one ever found out.

There were more of such people than most of the ordinary humans of Europa knew, and more than the statistical average in Beetleburg; the full complement would have needed the largest beer-hall in town to all feast together.

After supper Lilith invited everyone into her studio for some light music, just as if this were an ordinary party. The newest guest declined, and offered to wash dishes instead. He waved it off when Adam tried to roll up his sleeves and follow. Adam smiled at him and went in to listen as well.

Lilith made her way through three of Chopin's nocturnes, then a mazurka. Béla's ladies were the only ones to dance, which they did with wild abandon, almost knocking over Csenge - no small feet, given her size - and getting applause from half the guests. Agatha asked if she could play next, and tapped her way through a folksong from Passholdt with exquisite care. She seemed to have a fine ear; Lilith had suggested they get her flute lessons as well. 

Her father had enjoyed music, although he had an unfortunate tendency to borrow instruments long enough to retune them. Lilith had been more sympathetic to this impulse than Adam, but then she, like the masters, had perfect pitch. 

By the end of the piece Agatha was struggling not to yawn. Adam tapped her shoulder, and leaned his head against his hand. "Already?" she asked, frowning. But it was almost nine; he pointed to the clock. 

She sighed, then scrambled up to stand on the bench and take a bow. "Thank you all for listening and I hope you liked it," she said, all in one breath.

"Oh, plenty." Béla's grin was just wide enough to show his teeth; he must have drunk too much ale. "Perhaps you will play for us again next week?"

"Can I, Lilith?" She looked a little wary at the prospect.

Lilith just smiled, though, and ruffled her perpetually messy hair. "Of course. We'll make it a regular part of the evening."

This idea seemed to cheer her. She was smiling, at least, as Adam picked her up. Agatha was almost too big for it - might have been too big, if he had not been so tall - but would never be too heavy, and so he meant to keep carrying her to bed until she started to protest it. She wouldn't be a child forever, and he would never have another daughter. 

Most nights in the attic room there would have been noises from owls, or the distant metal noises of the patroller clanks, but with the snow thick on the roof the only noise was conversation floating up from downstairs. Adam set Agatha down beside the bed, and turned to light the oil lamp while she changed into her nightgown. He'd made one with the flint built in, so it only required spinning a little wheel to light, but it still took two or three tries sometimes. Maybe he'd redesign it, in time. He would have suggested it as a project to Agatha, but he suspected that would only end in broken glass and tears.

"Can I tell you a story?" she asked, and then yawned again.

Of course. It was part of the ritual. He hoped she took a long time to grow out of it.

Agatha had already pulled the covers up, and she was clutching her stuffed clank. Adam pretended to think it over, then pulled a little chunk of petrified wood from her shelves and pressed it into her hand. She nodded, and took a deep breath. "Once upon a time," she began, "there were two princesses who lived in a town in the middle of a great big forest. The people there built everything out of wood, and they hunted deer in the forest and ate apples off the trees, and everyone was happy. But one day a woodcutter came to complain to the princesses, because he'd gone to cut down a tree and his saw broke, because someone had turned the tree into stone. So the princesses took their swords and they went into the forest to figure out why the tree was turned to stone."

It was a rambling story. One part she'd obviously copied from the Green Glass Book, but at least that proved her memory had no problems, and that her French was improving. Adam made the appropriate faces at the the scary parts, as the brave princesses faced down the mysterious Spark with their wits and inventions.

"And -" Agatha interrupted herself with a yawn. "An' finally he yelled, _Fools! I vill destroy you!_ and he shot it at the princess. An' she turned into a clank." Adam tried to look dismayed, and Agatha hastily continued, "But it was fine, because she was a really nice clank. Like the Muses. And he shot at the other princess, but she pulled out her Dynamic Reflector and it reflected the petrifier right back and turned him into a statue. And now she was a clank the other princess was really strong, so she just picked up the wicked Spark and carried him right back to town. Everyone was so happy they came back. They didn't mind about the princess being turned into a clank because now she could rule them forever. And they decided to rebuild their house out of stone, so nobody could knock it down again, and they used the wicked Spark as the cornerstone." She took a deep breath. "And they all lived happily ever after."

Adam gave the traditional very quiet, non-disturbing claps, and took the petrified wood to put away. He tucked the covers around Agatha's shoulders and smoothed her hair. 

"G'night, Adam," she mumbled, eyes already closed. 

He kissed her on the forehead, and turned to extinguish the lamp.

Getting Agatha to bed had taken longer than he thought; downstairs Lilith was already seeing off two guests. The rest were still talking in Lilith's studio, but quietly. Soon enough they would make their way through the snow to their own beds, more or less comfortable, and back to their more or less ordinary daylight lives in the morning. Most nights, Adam would have stayed to listen, but for some reason he felt melancholy and ill-suited for company. He retreated to the kitchen instead, and began to set up pots - one for stock, and he deposited the chicken bones as soon as remnants of meat were removed; three for stew for their midnight guests. He gave it up only when he felt the vibrations - taptap, stomp, taptap - that meant 'Come here, I want you'. 

Lilith wanted him, it turned out, to find a candle lantern to give their newest guest, who was staying on Brassicavore Lane where they still didn't have the streetlights fixed. After that, he waved farewells until the only one left was Csenge. She went to the forge with Adam while Lilith went to finish the stew and another tray of butter rolls. 

It bothered him a little, entertaining their late guests in the forge as if they weren't good enough for painted rooms, but it couldn't be helped. Quince and Herr Constantin would have had trouble getting through the doors. He could at least make the forge comfortable, and given the weather, he fetched two extra coal buckets and left them beside the stove. Csenge had lifted the anvil out of the way, and the hemispherical boiler vessel he'd been making for Professor Ottovon, and was staring in confusion at the pieces of snow shovel. "Adam? Did you make this?"

He shook his head, and held out a hand at about Agatha's height.

"Your daughter made it?" He nodded. "She's getting to be quite the mechanic, isn't she? Clever girl."

Clever, yes, but a mechanic she was not and might never be, and Adam didn't care right now to think about why. He ruefully shrugged and waved at the dented parts. Then he pointed to Csenge, the clock, and mimed taking a drink.

She shook her head. "Can't stay, I'll be up early tomorrow. Deliveries. Three men out with colds at once, can you believe it? You'd think people who could resurrect the dead could come up with a cold cure. And that business with the miniature suction pump does not qualify." She kept up the low-key grumbling as they set up the tables and assorted chair-like-objects for those who used them, and tapped the keg, and got the stove alight. Then she said her farewells and tromped out into the night. The snow was falling again, in thick clumps that filled the air. Good: it would hide the tracks.

Their midnight guests would arrive soon - the unpassables, the people who toiled in the dark corners of the University, boiler rooms and laundries and furnaces, and dared not come out in daylight lest they frighten children, or inspire them to throw rocks; the ones who knew they could not go down a street without stares and whispers. 

Someday, they would need to introduce Agatha to those friends of theirs, as well. Someday soon, Adam thought. She would not be afraid of their midnight guests; she was amazed by strangeness, and would see them for the marvels their creators had meant. If ever things changed, if she went to Mechanicsburg someday as its lord and master, it would be as well if she were used to strange people. And it would do their hearts good to be smiled at by a child. 

\--

Castle Wulfenbach never slept, but it did have quiet times. Its clocks were kept to a Paris noon. When the Castle was over Transylvania this meant long evenings and dark mornings; even now, almost at the spring equinox, sunrise did not come until close to eight. In deference to their circadian rhythms, breakfast for the students was at nine, and skipping was permitted.

Zoing did not have a circadian rhythm, and therefore he rose at four to keep Gil company.

He turned up with tea, of course, and a plate of blintzes. At this hour getting into Gil's room unseen was comically easy. Gil was awake already, sitting cross-legged on his bed reading by the glow-light. He barely glanced up when Zoing came in, but did offer a quiet, "Good morning."

"Gmornin." Every week or two, this would be the point where they sneaked off again, to meet the Baron in his private quarters for waffles and discussion of various scientific matters, on which Zoing could sometimes contribute things he remembered, and politics, which he understood not at all. Not today, so he just pressed the tea mug into Gil's hand. "Whatbokyured?"

"Professor Snaphoris's new one on superstitions." He tilted it up so Zoing could see the title: _88 Tricks For Getting Good Luck_. "It's an amazing piece of research. I wish she'd called it something else, though."

"Whzdat?"

"Because it sounds like a self-help book. And you just know some poor man who's had a bad month is going to pick it up because he wants better luck, and end up with a case of crippling self-doubt." He tossed it to the bed, and took a careful gulp of tea. "It's - all true, but maybe not stuff she should spread around? People would be a lot more miserable if they didn't think they could make themselves lucky." 

Zoing contemplated this statement, while he carefully ripped a blintz into pieces small enough to swallow. Gil had been reading more about psychology lately. It was part of a worrisome trend. He'd started acting happy whenever other people were around, even when he was in one of his bleak moods - not very good acting, but it seemed to fool them. He talked about politics. He _wore shoes_. He'd gotten suddenly taller, so maybe it was just that going barefoot was uncomfortable, but Zoing wondered if all this was some strange human equivalent of moulting. "Butenzebecarleznmesup."

"Depends on how. I mean, if an aircrew thinks it's good luck to check your fuel gauge right before you set off, they're less likely to run out of fuel." He frowned at his tea.

"Gudideanywy nodluck."

"If everyone working for the Baron was as logical as you -" Gil heaved another sigh. Zoing decided to shove the plate at him in case he'd forgotten about it. Apparently he had, because he brightened up and took two blintzes at once, cramming them into his mouth. They ate in relative quiet for a little bit, apart from the chewing noises, and then Gil sighed again and reached out to scratch Zoing just behind the antennae. "You'd tell me if you thought I was being overconfident, right?"

"Frndsjob."

Gil nodded, as if he had gotten an answer he liked. "Right. Thank you." He looked around the room, at his stacks of books and the experimental drip clock Theo had given him. Then he smothered a yawn. "I should go to the lab." 

He didn't sound nearly as enthusiastic as usual. Zoing considered. Gil was working on a miniature flying machine that used wings for propulsion, like a bird, but he'd spent the past week sending prototypes crashing into the walls of the Really Secret Lab and looking devastated and it couldn't be good for him. What else - ah. It looked like reading the docking bay schedules every day would pay off again. "Betridea," he informed Gil. "Drnkteefrst."

"Right, right, I shouldn't skip breakfast." He picked up the last blintz and eyed it dubiously.

"No! Fr _after_."

Gil looked sheepish at that, and finished breakfast without complaint. He pulled his boots on. They hid the dishes in the vent to deal with later - Gil muttered something about a better mimmoth trap. but he'd been muttering that as long as Zoing had been alive and never got around to it - then snuck out, heading for Starboard Bay Five. Once they got into the main traffic corridors it was no longer necessary to sneak. They dodged mechanics, sailors, and a unicycle messenger almost ran them down and shouted an apology over her shoulder. Gil actually laughed at that, a sound Zoing hadn't heard in days.

Zoing took a hand in his claw and tugged him impatiently along. They were almost late.

It had been months since the last time, but whatever was happening to Gil didn't impede his ability to sneak onto an envelope-maintenace platform. They picked one just six meters up the wall, and lay flat to watch through the holes in the grate. No one noticed below; the great bay doors were already rolled back, revealing the vast black sky, and people in blue jackets were running about, readying the mooring ropes and the tow winch. "Ahoy!" someone shouted, and there it was, rising gently into view from almost directly below: the Wulfenbach transport _Ambitious Roach_. It was one of the sleeker, faster ships of the fleet, barely twenty meters long, and the envelope glowed gently yellow in the guidance lights.

Gil, moving very carefully, pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket. It clicked open, but the noise was inaudible over the chaos. He held it up so they could both see. Four-thirty-eight. Right on time, then; Zoing clicked a claw in acknowledgement.

By now they were throwing mooring ropes out to the ship, and after a shouted exchange, someone turned on the tow winch. It roared to life, making the whole bay shudder. Zoing felt as if his shell was being rattled loose; he grabbed Gil's arm. The ship pulled partway into the docking bay, and settled until the gondola was just touching the bay deck. Something they didn't want to risk on a gangplank, then. 

Gil tugged his sleeve, and Zoing looked down where he was pointing, and - oh. Something important. The Baron had just walked in. 

Someone in a hat with gold braid had just jumped out the open cargo doors. The Baron thanked her for making good time; his voice carried over the ambient roar. Then they stood aside, and gestured for whatever was still inside to come out.

First out, on hands and knees, was - Zoing would have said a human woman, she was human-shaped and had dark human skin, but humans weren't that tall. She was wearing a gown made of at least six different fabrics, and no shoes. As soon as she was out from under the airship she stood up and stretched, and then tugged on the leash in one hand. There was an indignant sqwawking, and then, following behind her, a bird. Zoing recognized it from one of Gil's ornithology books: _Columba livia_ , the common pigeon. It was in a leather harness. Gil hissed.

"Whz?"

"He's giving her a job," Gil said very softly. "That's why the Baron showed up, to welcome her aboard. And I bet he's going to try to duplicate the pigeon. Quiet, she's almost tall enough to see us."

Zoing didn't see why the pigeon needed duplication. It looked quite ordinary. Maybe most of them weren't tame enough to be ridden?

The Baron had come over to the giant woman now, and was holding up a hand - she had to bend over to take it, which she did with three fingers. "Welcome aboard, Miss Pantagruel. I hope your journey was not too unpleasant."

"It was fine," she said, in a surprisingly high voice given her size. "Thank you, Herr Baron. Ah - have you -"

"We have not yet made contact with your sisters, I'm afraid. Given the state of the late Doctor Varangus's labs, I can understand their hesitation. If there is some message you would like to send them, it can be posted around Bothnipolis in hopes they'll see it." He glanced around the bay, frowning.

Some people had come up to surround the pigeon, peering at its eyes and feathers. It squawked again, and ruffled its wings. Two men in elaborate brass helmets took the leash from Miss Pantagruel and began to drag it toward the door; she paid no attention. "I might be able to convince them to come here," she told the Baron. "Er, that is, if you would want them here. Doctor Varangus said he'd made them for repairing small mechanisms, but Susa is no good with machines and Partha gets claustrophobic."

"No doubt we can find them roles better suited to their talents," the Baron told her soothingly. "And yourself, but perhaps we can discuss that when you've rested?"

"Yes, of course." By now there were people hauling boxes out of the gondola, but they were all anonymous shipping crates, with no clue to the contents but the occasional 'flammable' or 'open with tongs' symbol.

"Just a moment." The Baron waved over one of the blue-jacketed docking crew, and whispered something to him; he ran out of their field of view. The Baron continued, "As to the late Doctor's other experiments, we don't believe them to be hazardous, so if you have no objection they can be set loose in the wild. Or sold; there must be at least one more wealthy idiot nobleman who wants a miniature tiger."

Miss Pantagruel rubbed her temple and said something, but they couldn't hear over the sudden grinding noise of the platform being lowered.

"Ohdm," Zoing remarked to no one in particular. Gil growled, and stood up, only a little unsteadily. Zoing followed suit, and as soon as it was down to two meters, followed Gil in leaping to the deck. He didn't land so gracefully, but he tried. 

The Baron was standing there looking stern, while Miss Pantagruel was staring in undisguised fascination. Gil straightened up and laid a comforting hand on Zoing's hat. "Sorry, sir," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "We were just curious. We won't tell anyone." Zoing let his antennae droop in shame.

"I assure you, if their arrival were a secret, someone would have _locked the door._ " The Baron sounded more amused than annoyed. "Gil, Zoing, this is Gritha Pantagruel, formerly of Bothnipolis. Miss Pantagruel, this is Gil Holzfäller, one of our students, and Zoing, who assists in the labs."

Zoing held up a claw. He knew how to be polite, Gil had given him an etiquette book. "Plztmetchu."

"Er, likewise," she said, and delicately took his claw in two fingers. 

"Perhaps you two can show Miss Pantagruel to her room, since you're here? And then go back to your own, Gil, before Von Pinn becomes upset by your absence."

From the Baron it wasn't meant as a threat, but the thought of Von Pinn upset - Zoing had seen it once from a distance and didn't care for a closer look. 

There was, it seemed, a room prepared for her on the third deck, port side at the three-hundred-meter mark, they'd cleaned out a spare lab store. Gil worked out a slightly roundabout route that spared her ducking to get through doors, and moved so fast Zoing could scarcely keep up. He tried to introduce her to anyone they passed who wasn't moving, and pointed out doors. Engine repair, hospital, storage, kitchens, stair up to the greenhouses, more storage, barracks, gun turrets, which was one of the few places on the Castle where 'off limits' was taken seriously. "But most places, feel free to stick your head in, if you get lost ask anyone in a blue jacket for directions. You'll get used to it. If you stay. Are you staying?"

"I suppose I must be," she said, and shook her head. "Where else would someone like me go?"

Gil stopped, so abruptly he had to rock on his toes to stay upright. "The permanent crew of Castle Wulfenbach," he said, "is seventeen percent construct. And increasing. I assure you, miss, you won't be the weirdest thing you meet today."

She seemed distressed. Zoing tugged at her skirt. "Wantee?"

"Yes, that would be good." Her voice had gone even softer.

The nearest kitchen was - actually on the deck above. Zoing darted for the stairwell and up it, dodging a unicycle messenger who hadn't bothered to dismount. He wasn't known here, and they tried to foist him off with the pre-boiled muck they kept hot in an urn for exhausted crew dropping in before odd watches. It would be a shame to greet a guest with it - really, it was a shame to give to anyone, but some people only cared that it was hot and caffienated - and it took some frantic waving and throwing open cubboards before they procured a proper mug, new leaves, and sugar cubes, just in case.

Zoing took a shortcut. Still, by the time he got to Miss Pantagruel's room she and Gil were already there. She was sitting crosslegged atop the four matresses someone had thought to lay out on the floor, while Gil perched on top an chest-of-drawers, legs dangling in midair. The combination put them close to eye-level with each other. Gil was waving his hands, and whatever he'd just said had made Miss Pantagruel laugh. "Tee," Zoing said, and shoved the mug at her. She took it carefully, like she wasn't used to human-size dishes. Maybe the Spark who made her had made giant mugs too. "Uwantsugr?"

"Yes, please."

Gil hopped down from the chest, with a thump. "You'll want shoes too," he told her. "We have cobblers here, we have everything here - there's a fellow who likes to make boots for the Jägers, he likes a challenge, I'll tell him to come see you around noon, or is that too early?"

He'd rambled on past her gasp of surprise, but she recovered quickly. "Is - You have Jägermonsters on _board_?"

Gil ran a hand through his hair and looked sheepish. "They stand out less here than they would anywhere on the ground. And if something's nasty enough to send them in for, it's usually nasty enough to need a lot of cleanup."

"Oh, that makes sense. Just as easy to deploy your soldiers and beaurecrats from the same base."

"Exactly." Gil beamed at her. "You're very sharp. Have you thought about a logistics job?"

This was politics, Zoing decided, and both over his head and out of bounds. "Flrttlatr," he said, and tugged on Gil's sleeve. "Homnow."

Gil went red. "That was not _flirting_. That was _complimenting._ "

"And I think he's a little young for me," Miss Pantagruel added, with a giggle. "What are you, ten?"

" _Eleven!_ And a half." Gil drew himself up to his full height. "I apologize for my friend, he isn't much for conversation. Come on, Zoing, home it is."

"Byebye." Zoing waved at her, and she waved back as they shut the door behind them.

They were halfway back to the students' wing, taking a shortcut along the temporarily-deserted maintence gangway of a steam pipe, before Gil said, quietly, "Thank you."

"Frwhat?"

"Right now? For being my friend, very obviously, in front of Miss Pantagruel. It'll make her feel better the more constructs she sees just - living here. Doing normal things. Some places on the ground, constructs are afraid to leave the labs, you know?" Gil heaved a sigh. Now they were in private, he was back to melancholy. 

"Sdwfl."

"Be glad you don't have to live down there."

"Amglad," Zoing said, and threw his arms around Gil. Gil squeaked, but then returned the hug. It seemed to reassure him, and Zoing was glad for that too.

Zoing was glad, so very glad, that Gil had made him to be a friend. He liked living on the Castle, where nobody minded his shape. He liked being helpful in the labs. And he tried to be the best friend he could for Gil, who needed one so much. Gil tried to make people happy so hard it hurt him. It was only fair that someone he'd _made_ should make him happy too.

\---


End file.
